by C A Nicks
“You really want to know?” Hal touched her again, lifting a lock of her hair to his nose, inhaling deliberately. “My first thought was, well, well, if our Tig hasn’t gone and backed herself into a nice little corner.” He let the hair drop. “I’m surprised, actually. After the merry dance you’ve led me, now suddenly, this.”
“I told you the engagement’s off. Did you send them? Last night?” She glanced at Fabian, knowing he wouldn’t tolerate them talking privately for much longer.
“Yes.”
“You could have got me killed, didn’t you think of that? They tried to set fire to my barn.”
“A smoke bomb, nothing more. You were never in any danger.”
“Men died last night.”
“Their families will be compensated. That man in there, I can help him gain at least some of his goals. And you can, too, if you get my meaning.”
“If he becomes warlord, I’ll be under his protection.”
Hal raised a finger. “If, Tig. If. Gift or sacrifice? Which would you rather be?”
“My own woman. You two can stay here and play war, finish your pissing contest. I’m leaving, moving to town to get on with my life.”
He gave a disbelieving snort. “You’re abandoning a story half-way through? Not a chance in hell. There’s profit to be made here, if we keep our nerve.”
“Not interested in profit. Just want a life.”
“It won’t be with him.”
“And it won’t be with you.”
After months of hedging and pretending and lying, the truth felt surprisingly good on her tongue. Stalking back into the house, almost pushing Fabian out of the way to get inside, she refused to dwell on that other truth, the one that would never be given voice. If she couldn’t have Fabian, she didn’t want any man. She loved him. Time might one day soften that resolve, when the scars of his leaving had healed. When she’d put her broken heart back together.
She kept right on walking, crossing the kitchen to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Listen to her. She was turning into a drama queen.
The rumble of male voices drifted up the stairs. She paused, knowing she wouldn’t like anything she heard. Stalked into her bedroom and flung herself facedown onto the threadbare quilt. Turned away from the reflection in the mirror on the dresser. Nothing to see here. Move along, folks.
Should have left Fabian where she found him. She rolled onto her back and stared at a damp stain on the wood-panelled ceiling. Should have left the problem to someone else. How had she ever thought to handle this and remain sane? She’d survived because of her good sense, her ability to do the best thing in every circumstance and here she was, reduced to lying here on her bed, sulking like some teenager under curfew.
Outside, the dogs barked, the wagon creaked. A sharp command, the crack of the whip. The rumble of the wheels on the stony road.
She strained for the squeak of the stairs, for Fabian’s familiar foot-fall. Nothing. The kitchen door slammed shut. She heard the whine of the pump, the sound of a tin-cup hitting the marble draining board. The scrape of a kitchen chair on the stone floor.
It was always coming to this. She’d always known he’d leave her. But damn, he’d given her some of the best times of her life. When they’d lain together, he’d made her feel like the most beautiful woman alive.
She sat up and blew out a calming breath. Sulk over. She could never stay mad for long. Time to go downstairs and discover what marvellous plans for world domination Fabian had hatched with Hal. If Hal even thought of double crossing them, she would shoot him herself.
The surge of protectiveness made her smile as she slid off her boots and made her way silently down the stairs. Contemplating Fabian’s broad back, filling every inch of her father’s old shirt, the dark, slicked-back hair barely touching the collar, she wondered what exactly made her heart trip up at the sight of him. What made her want to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay.
He had a rugged handsomeness, but then so did a lot of men. Was good in bed, but so were the men she occasionally bought on her jaunts into town. He had prospects, but so did Hal.
He raised a hand, and without turning around, extended it back towards her. Calling her to him. And that’s when she knew. He’d needed her on that first day and he still did. Not merely as a sacrifice or a gift. It was more than that.
“I won’t lie,” he said sliding his palm against hers. “I was tempted.”
“I know.” She draped herself over his back, cheek resting on his shoulder. Breathing in the scent of her home-made soap, the tang of sweat. The uniqueness that was him.
“I’m sorry.” His lips touched the back of her hand. “It should be so easy. Hal would prove an able ally. His price is within reason, yet I find myself reluctant to pay it.”
“Hey.” She couldn’t resist touching her own lips to the nape of his neck. “Stop worrying about that. I’m not yours to give, nor Hal’s to take. The engagement’s off.”
“I do not wish you to marry him.”
“I don’t intend to.”
He tightened his hand on hers. “I do not wish you to marry him. But I fear that my wish to return home may be greater than my wish to save you from him.”
She’d never heard him sound so bleak. So human.
“Then I must leave. If I’m muddying your waters, I’ll go. Disappear and then you can’t be tempted to sell me out and Hal can’t use me for leverage.”
“And thereby is my other problem.” He picked at a crumb on the table-top. Flicked it away as if the words he was about to utter were of no consequence. “The thought of your leaving disturbs me more than it should. It would be the best course of action, but I do not want you to go.”
The right words, the wrong time. Story of her life. She let him go, hoisted herself to sit on the table, legs dangling. Here was that crossroads they’d been expecting, the choices laid out before them. For every choice, a consequence and sadly, none of them seemed to point to happiness. Not for her, anyway.
“If it makes you feel any better, I only rescued you in the first place to sell you on to Carson. And then I thought perhaps you might have a rich family that would pay me a fat reward for your safe return. I was more than tempted.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She thought about it for a moment. “The real reason is that I’m a fool, but I like to think it’s because I detest slavery and think every man ought to be free.”
Fabian stared at his hands. “I enslaved millions. Never once did I think a single life might be of consequence.”
She knew where this was headed. “It’s in the past. Let it go.”
“No, Tig. It’s in my future. Revenge. Rivers of blood. That’s what I’m going back to.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I must go back.”
“No.” She dipped her head to check he was still paying attention. “I meant it doesn’t have to be like that when you return. You’re not that man anymore.”
“I no longer know who I am.” Fabian remained in place, staring at the table, when once he would have leapt from the chair and roared the words at her. They sounded more like a plea for help than a declaration of frustration.
She rubbed his shoulder in sympathy. “You’re becoming one of the good guys, Fabian. From this side of the fence things are not so clear-cut. What went down with Hal?”
“You mean did I strike a deal with him? He left me little choice. I’m not yet ready for a confrontation with Warrington. We will have need of Hal. He and I will talk again tomorrow morning.”
She hopped from the table. Glanced at the long-case clock in the corner of the room. Was there any point in returning to her studio today? In clinging to normality?
“I’m going to feed the animals. Then I’ll feed us. Hal’s playing a dangerous game, and I still don’t entirely trust him. Watch your back.”
“He plays for high stakes, yes. As do I. I must formulate a battle plan.”
“You do that,” she said and went in search of feed for the hens, leaving him to his thoughts. Whatever she wanted from him, only he could decide his course of action. No doubting she had the power to influence him, particularly now with the indecision written so plainly on his face. He’d looked vulnerable, sitting at the table, probably wondering whether he still had it in him to lead, to be the strongest and the best. Whether he could be as ruthless as he once was.
Here was her window. A time for tears and pleading him to stay. A time to be the small voice of doubt that would throw him from his course.
The hens crowded around, clucking and squabbling over the grain. Five eggs lay nestled in the straw bed. She gathered them up, storing them carefully in the upraised tail of her shirt, like she did as a child. Wouldn’t be long before Fabian got himself together, psyched himself up for the battle to come. What he needed now was focus, not some emotional woman holding him back. Now Hal knew about him only one way to go and that was forward.
She placed the eggs in the basket by the kitchen door, reluctant to go back inside and disturb Fabian’s grand plans. If they went awry, she wanted no part of the blame.
Leaning on the wooden fence enclosing the yard, she took a long, hard look at the scrubby pasture, the untilled fields, the high ridge separating her spread from the desert beyond. How many times had she lingered on this spot, eyes straining for the sight of her father, her brothers? Fooling herself they were merely out of sight, and not dead. She screwed up her eyes, remembering her belief that if she looked hard enough, they would miraculously reappear.
They never did. Chin on her hands, she remembered the vow to keep going, no matter what. Would have been too easy to lie down beside them and never get up again. To hand the farm to Carson and live the life of a camp-follower. He’d understood her need for independence. Supported her decision to divorce and return to the land on which she’d been born.
She owed him tears for his kindness, for the protection he’d afforded her and yet none came. Whether he fell to Fabian or some other usurper, Warrington would go the same way. Few of the desert war-lords hung onto power for long. Fabian in his turn would be challenged.
Or would he be the one to finally put an end to the cycle of murder and terror? Someone who could unify the gangs and factions and bring some order back to these neglected regions?
It would take someone pretty special to achieve that. Someone who cared enough to put aside his own agenda for the greater good. One day such a man might appear. One day.
Chapter 11
He had so much more to learn about this thing called time. Whatever plans you made, whatever you needed to do, there never seemed to be enough of it.
And then there were the eddies and backwaters of life where time almost ceased to exist at all. The times in between that he suspected were the most precious. When mortals took stock and made their peace with the world and others around them. When they grasped at opportunities that would never come again.
A time such as now.
This could be his last day with Tig. They should make good use of it.
“Getting hungry?”
“Yes,” he said propping his elbows on the fence. “I’m well below my fighting weight. I must remedy that.”
“You look pretty good from this angle.” Tig tipped her head to study him. “You’re taller than Warrington, but he’s built like a brick wall. And drugged up to the nines on the Roids.”
“You mean stimulants?”
“Kind of. Muscle bulkers, male hormones. Side effect is that they’ll stop him feeling pain. Right now the man will have access to the best. He’ll be a veritable killing machine and pretty unstoppable.”
“An admirable quality in a warlord.”
His comment made her smile, although he did not quite know why. Warrington sounded like the perfect warlord. “I would fight him on a level field. Will Hal be able to procure me such enhancements?”
“Yes, at some cost.”
“When I am warlord, he will be more than richly rewarded.”
“Not those kind of costs.” She tapped her forehead, and then her chest. “I mean in here. Why do you think warlords burn out so quickly? They’ll make you strong and invincible and one day you’ll think you can fly and then splat. What I’m trying to say is that once you go there, you’ll never come back.”
“I do not need to come back.”
“No. I forgot, you’re just moving on through.”
“If lady fortune smiles on me, yes.”
“They call this the eye of the storm. Do you know that expression?”
“We say before the tempest comes the moment of peace. A time when the world stills and waits. Is that what you mean?”
Tig gave a small laugh. “In fewer words, yes. You have to stop once in a while to gather the threads. To make sure they’re all secure before you take the next step.”
“You will miss this place?”
“Yes. Was born and raised here. Always thought I’d one day be buried out there, with them.”
He’d visited the graveyard, the small corner of a far field that held the mortal remains of the dead. His own father had been immortalised in marble and gilded stone, his memory kept alive by paid indulgences from the pilgrims who flocked to wail and sing and show their allegiance. Tig’s family had been dumped in crude holes in the ground, covered with dirt and marked only with a simple post upon which someone had carved each name. Death was commonplace to a mortal. Something they dealt with on a daily basis. But even if she had the means for a grand gesture, Tig would still have kept it simple.
“Why do you not visit them more often?” he said indicating the direction of the graveyard. “Is it too painful?”
“Mortals carry the dead in their hearts, Fabian. That way they’re always with us. Besides, I’m not the type to sit on graves and wail.” She shrugged. “Won’t bring them back, will it?”
“No, it will not.”
Dare he tell her how he’d tried to bring his mother back? How terrifying had been that first revelation that he and his brother would live on while all around them died? How it had felt to watch his first-born grow and age and follow everyone else he’d known to the grave? How he’d hardened over the years and forgotten how to care?
Posterity meant little to him, yet he’d talked of leaving her with a child. And not just for the honour of bearing his seed. How would it be to follow the natural order and age alongside a son or a daughter? Staying ahead of them instead of having to endure the grotesque spectacle of seeing them bent and gnarled, absent teeth and mind.
“Come on, big man. Let me feed you.” Tig held out her hand. “Staring at graves is plain depressing. That’s why I avoid it. We’re all going there one day, so dwelling on it is a waste of time.”
How right. He let himself be led because she was still his anchor. And although plans were in motion, he still felt rudderless and all at sea in this strange world.
“Don’t leave too soon,” he said when they’d eaten the meagre meal she’d scraped together. “I will have need of a trustworthy ally until I get the measure of things. Someone who will not take advantage of my innocence.”
She dumped the plates into the sink and threw herself into pumping water for washing up. “If I stay I’ll end up married to Hal.”
“If you do not, he will likely double-cross me.”
“Then we have a problem.”
“I agree. And no matter how much thought I give it, I cannot think of a way out that does not affect one or other of us. You said you didn’t trust him.”
She paused momentarily before reaching for the scrubbing brush. “I don’t believe he’d do anything to hurt me. You’re a different matter completely.” She scrubbed as she talked, stacked the plates and then turned, wiping her hands on her pants. “It’s not as simple as get Hal on your side and he will magically make it all happen for you.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He snapped the words back at her, instantly r
egretting them when he saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes. “Forgive me. I speak from frustration with myself, not anger at you.”
“I know. I can’t see a way out of it, either. Not a sensible one. Must this plan of yours involve a challenge?”
“If I am to have access to the most powerful mages, yes. You said yourself they’re all in the pay of the warlords.”
She nodded. “True. And even then you’ll be lucky to find one who can work the kind of magic you say you need. Have you thought of the alternative?”
He rose from the table, taking the last of the biscuits from the plate because he was still hungry despite Tig’s efforts to feed him. “Alternative?”
“Beat Warrington and stay on. Make a difference. We need someone like you, Fabian. Someone strong enough to unite the factions, to civilise this place. Did you know the warlords still claim right of first night? The right to rape a new bride before her husband has the pleasure of her? With the tithes and protection money, we’re little more than slaves to them.”
“I care nothing for your petty politics. I wish only for enough power to enable me to return home.”
She shot him a reproachful look. “You don’t care for me? To what happens to me after you return home?”
“Of course I do. If you knew how troubled my mind was right now, you’d know how much I cared for you.”
He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words were becoming unavoidable. Her eyes widened at his revelation. She bit her lip as if to stop herself speaking too hastily in return.
“You really care for me?”
“Yes. You know I do.”
“Flattery? To get me to stay?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He caught sight of himself in the mirror on the dresser. A warrior stared back, hard of face, strong and determined, and yet inside he felt anything but. He closed his eyes. “You asked, I told you. Can you not be content with that?”
He heard her light footfall. Opened his eyes to find her standing in front of him. A small smile tugged at her lips.
“You said you cared for me.”
